Page 47 of Mangled Memory
“What do you need? What can I get you? Water? Pain killers?”
“I’d say coffee, but I’m fearful of you ruining… What did you call him? George?”
“Georgio. He probably needs a last name too. Salvatore? Georgio Salvatore.” I use a horrible Italian accent and pinch my fingers together as if the hand gesture makes it authentic. “And you’re probably right. Not that he could mess up, but I sure could and we’d be in the situation we were this morning.”
“I did okay this morning, thank you very much.”
“You did. Thank goodness. If I had to pull out that sad one from the safe room again, I would cry.”
“You did cry.”
“That was yesterday and there was a lot going on.” And there was. My emotions are definitely dancing right at the surface.
His smile is small but welcoming. And stunning. Seriously, how is he that hot?
“So you feel up to making espresso?”
“You ask a lot of someone who is afraid of Georgio.”
“He doesn’t bite. Only a nip or two, and you can do it. Want me to walk you through it again?”
“You sure you don’t just want iced tea?”
“You wound me, woman.” He throws a hand to his chest as if he’s a Shakespearean actor.
I pop up and head for the kitchen. “Okay, Georgio. It’s you and me. We can do this. Don’t let me down.”
I set my phone on the counter, place both my palms on the smooth, cool surface, and stare down the machine. I can do this.
I can and I do. The machine makes up for my deficiencies, though it looks worse for the wear when I’m done.
I take a cup to Christian. His grimace is barely visible when he takes a sip.
“Okay. So it’s not perfect. I know this, or I can easily guess. But it didn’t explode, so let’s call it a win.”
“And yours?”
“Mine wasn’t exactly drinkable.”
His full laugh morphs into a moan quickly, but the amusement never leaves his face, even as his brows drop. “Did it explode?”
I look away. “It tasted like it did.”
“I know the doctors expect me to sit here and do nothing, but that’s not my style. What’s on the agenda for today?”
“I’m flexible. What are your ideas?”
“Paint Mines?”
I roll my eyes. “Seriously. You’re supposed to be resting and recuperating? A hike is not what they mean when they suggest you relax.”
“Bad suggestion?”
“No. It’s a great one, but a nighttime shoot in a month or so maybe? Golden?”
“I’m up for riding shotgun.”
“You’ll give up control and let me drive?”
